


Nudge

by Enfilade



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Brainwashing, Duty, M/M, Manipulation, Mind Manipulation, Spy operatives doing what they do best, alcohol mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-21
Updated: 2016-03-21
Packaged: 2018-05-28 03:43:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6314011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enfilade/pseuds/Enfilade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Getaway has a mission.  Skids would be useful to him.  Getaway just didn't bargain on actually falling for Skids.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nudge

**Author's Note:**

> Getaway has done some not nice things in canon to some characters I really like, but I can definitely see where he's coming from. This fic is for everyone who's ever had to choose between between personal desire and ethics, between orders and conscience, between duty and affection. 
> 
> The fine print: First person Getaway Point of View. Mention of alcohol, depiction of brainwashing/mindwipe, depiction of manipulation. Spec Ops style, don't expect to see it coming...

_Nudge_

_Prior to Issue 41_

I had already given Skids…how many chances now? 

Really, our conversation on the quantum-duplicate _Lost Light_ had been a pretty clear strike. Still, I’d felt the need to invite Skids to my hab, sit down next to him on my couch, pour a few drinks, and ask him again—carefully, very carefully. A superlearner was one of the last people I wanted to underestimate. 

It was a gamble to even dare ask again for fear he might pick up on a pattern. I knew better than to take stupid chances. I took one anyway, because something in me demanded that I make absolutely sure.

Skids replied as I already knew he would. I remember watching his superlearner’s brain connecting the dots until his mouth opened in horror in recognition of the picture he’d drawn. Oh, he tried to hide his expression but I had anticipated his conclusion and I had been ready. He rose to his feet and turned away from me, activating his comm link as he did so, but I had the nudge gun in my hand and my finger on the trigger. I shot the memory out of his head before he had a chance to speak.

I caught Skids as he fell and carefully laid him back on the couch. Then I looked down at my new old friend and wished he hadn’t had to be the sort of person who just couldn’t stand back and let things happen. No, he had to be the sort who stepped up and said something, who _did_ something, and I loved him for it even as I wished he could have acted differently, just this one time.

Skids’s comm crackled with an incoming transmission and I heard a voice: “This is Ultra Magnus. Proceed.”

“Sorry, sir,” I said smoothly.

“Getaway?” Disapproval hung heavy in Magnus’s voice. “Isn’t this Skids’s comm?”

“Yes,” I replied, because it was true and Magnus knew it. “Sorry, Skids and I got into the engex and we’ve had a few too many. Looks like a fall triggered Skids’s comm.”

“A fall,” Magnus replied skeptically, but by then I was ready.

“Okay, _not_ a fall, but Inter-Autobot radio has decency standards for a reason.”

“ _Um_ ,” Ultra Magnus said, as he realized what I was insinuating.

So of course I took the advantage I’d been given. “Is there anything further, sir?” I asked while he was still off-guard.

“No. Carry on… _Um_. Ah, good evening.”

I heard the click of the line disconnecting and felt rather pleased with myself. Ultra Magnus would remember only the embarrassment of making an unintentional innuendo. He would _not_ remember that he hadn’t heard Skids speak on his own comm. 

I looked at Skids, sleeping on my couch, and I felt like slag for doing this to my best friend.

Except he _wasn’t_ my best friend, not really. We’d worked together in Special Ops but Skids hadn’t been my buddy or anyone else’s, for that matter. There was something broken in him, the rumour said, and that was the reason he didn’t let anyone get too close.

But I’d seen his talent—the things he was capable of—and when I met him again on Luna 1, I saw an opportunity. Skids had amnesia. He didn’t know we were only co-workers, and there was nobody there who would think me a liar if I told him otherwise. It took only a few words, a _bomp_ , and I had a new best friend—a very skillful, very _useful_ best friend who was kindly disposed to me.

And, it turned out, well-liked among the crew. New Skids had wasted no time filling in all the empty space that Old Skids had kept between himself and everyone around him. I’d chosen even better than I could have hoped. New Skids was into all kinds of social opportunities and he brought me along with him, just as any mech would do for his _best friend_.

I stroked Skids’s helm and thought about the past. 

A few weeks after Luna 1, he and I were sitting side-by-side in the back of Swerve’s bar and we’d been joking with each other, leaning against each other, and then Skids leaned over and asked in a low voice if he and I had ever been lovers.

I knew if I said _yes_ that I’d be getting laid that night, and I looked up at Skids, who was clever and handsome and according to the rumours around the ship, one _hell_ of a lay, and I forced myself to laugh and I said no.

Skids’s optics flickered, and I could tell from the expression on his face that he’d been expecting me to say yes.

Hell, _I’d_ been expecting me to say yes, and while Skids stared at me with obvious disappointment I asked my processor why it had suddenly gotten squeamish about lying.

In the end it had come down to ethics. Apparently I could tell all sorts of lies for the sake of the mission, but when it came down to lying solely to get Skids into my berth, well, I just didn’t feel good about that.

“Why not?” Skids asked hesitantly.

If I was into the truth tonight, I figured I might as well see how far the truth would get me. “If it helps, it wasn’t from any lack of interest on _my_ part.”

Skids raised his hand to his chin, thinking. I knew he was asking the void that was his memory _why_ he hadn’t interfaced with me, and he wasn’t getting an answer. And he wouldn’t, I knew, because his ability to engage in any kind of intimacy—physical, emotional, you name it—had been left behind in Grindcore, or so the rumour went. Skids had gotten out of Grindcore, but he’d never really _left_ Grindcore, that’s what Jazz had said.

Not until he’d lost those memories.

“I guess you can’t read my mind and tell me what I was thinking back then,” Skids murmured.

“No,” I agreed—again, true, I wasn’t a mnemosurgeon—and if I had a pretty good hypothesis, well, I was just going to keep that to myself.

Skids glanced over at me. “Is that comment, you know, about not from lack of interest on your part…is that still the case?”

“Well, let me clarify,” I said, feeling a sudden thrill of excitement that Skids was interested, refusing to allow my eagerness to show in my response. I stretched languidly and settled back in the booth. “I’m not, and never was, looking for something exclusive.”

Skids snorted laughter. Of course, because New Skids was rather infamous on the _Lost Light_ for one-night stands and sleeping around…of _course_ , he was a superlearner and superlearners get bored very quickly. I was under no illusions that I could keep Skids all to myself. Nor would it be _smart_ to insist on monogamy. A wise agent didn’t just throw away tools from his toolbox and I never knew when I might need to turn on the old charm in order to achieve an objective.

Skids’s optics flickered again, and I knew what he was thinking. Skids was presuming the problem back then had been that _Skids_ had wanted a closed relationship. Which was so alien to his behaviour now that he felt both confused and hopeful. Skids’s quick mind would need only a few seconds to phrase the thought in his mind and then he would say…

“That’s, ah.” Skids flushed. “That’s not really what I had in mind.”

“ _Oh_ ,” I replied, as though his words were a surprise to me. “ _Well_ then. Given as we _both_ have all our options open, I can’t see anything wrong with two best friends having a little extra fun together.”

Much to my good fortune, neither could Skids. 

In the end, the truth didn’t get in the way of what I wanted after all.

_Prior to Issue 47_

Skids cuddled up to my side in my berth without a care in the world. He had a big smile on his face while he recharged. I’d had a rather nice time myself tonight, but I couldn’t rest so easily. I was all too aware that the arrangement I had with my best friend had an expiry date. One that was rapidly approaching.

So I sat up awake, stroking Skids’s helm, thinking of what was done and to do.

Our first encounter had been everything I’d hoped for. I’d since taken significant pride in the fact that Skids kept coming back to me of his own volition. I’d figured out early on that I’d have to switch it up, a _lot_ , to keep him intrigued, and for the most part it was working. 

If I was a _little_ jealous of Skids’s other flings, I couldn’t say anything. Skids thought that I was doing the same and I had permitted him his illusions. In actuality, I had been wise to keep _seduction_ in my toolbox. I now had Tailgate on my hook and that relationship was moving rapidly towards endgame.

Skids had even asked me tonight whether maybe we shouldn’t, whether there would be a problem if Tailgate found out. I asked him, as a friend, to please keep it on the down-low and then promised him that when I had a _conjunx endura_ I would swear off liaisons. In the meantime, I was an unbonded mechanism and I could frag who I pleased. Skids hesitated, then agreed and we’d had our usual lovely time. Superlearner or not, Skids still couldn’t get out of restraints as quickly as I could…not that he’d wanted to, by the end of it.

So. Tailgate. And if that didn’t work I had one more card to play. 

I looked down at Skids and hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

I laid down, wrapped my arms around Skids and prayed my plan would work. I went through each step in my mind. Tailgate sneaks into Megatron’s quarters, needles extended. Ravage warns Megatron. Megatron freaks out. Megatron attacks Tailgate, gets arrested, gets locked up in the brig, gets sent back to Cybertron, gets executed. Then I discredit Rodimus, and the _Lost Light_ gets back on mission, back on course. 

And I still have Skids.

If it doesn’t work…if I need to use Plan B…then…

I run my fingers over Skids’s helm and, impulsively, I nudge him.

Skids murmurs in recharge, but I am relentless. I nudge him again.

His optics flicker to life. “Huh? Getaway?”

“Skids,” I said, and I threw caution to the wind. I let my true feelings enter my voice and I spoke the truth. “I’m worried.”

Skids pushed himself up on his elbow. “What about?”

“Megatron.”

“You’re worried about Megatron _now_? It’s the middle of the night.”

“I’m always worried about Megatron,” I said. I felt odd, kind of tingly all over, and I realized I just wasn’t comfortable with so much honesty.

“If Megatron was going to do anything bad, he’d have done it by now.” I could tell Skids wasn’t worried, but he was still respecting my feelings and taking my concerns seriously.

“He threw a punch at Perceptor.”

“He has anger management issues.”

“So that makes it okay.” I couldn’t keep the bitterness from my tone. Why couldn’t Skids _see_?

Would Old Skids have agreed with me?

“No, that makes it _understandable_. That’s not the same as _okay_. But you know who else has anger management issues? Whirl. Are you up all night worrying about Whirl?”

I was, rather often as of late, but not for reasons I wanted to discuss with Skids. “ _Whirl_ isn’t responsible for our species’ greatest genocide,” I retorted.

Skids sighed. “No, but he’s killed a few guys and you know it. Same with Cyclonus. Same with…slag, you were never on like this about Drift, right?”

“I didn’t like Drift very much, but one thing to his credit…he clued in all on his own that he was a piece of slag and he _left_ the Decepticons. Megatron didn’t leave until his back was against the wall, and that’s why I don’t trust his eleventh-hour conversion for a second. Megatron doesn’t want redemption, or to make amends, or to become a better person. Megatron’s priorities are survival and, now that he thinks we’ve forgiven him, now he and Ravage sit up in his room at night and plot. If Megatron gets to the Knights before we do, it could be the end of our last hope for Cybertron.”

Skids frowned. “Megatron’s going to get to the Knights _at the same time_ as we do. Because he’s one of us now.”

I couldn’t hide my emotions. “He isn’t and _never will be_ one of us.”

Skids recoiled from the expression in my optics. I tried to tone down my gaze, but it was hard with my fuel pump thundering with fury in my chest.

“What’s the point of even trying to do better, _ever again_ , if you’re already damned?” Skids’s temper crept into his tone, his face. “If that’s the way it works, then if anyone makes a mistake… _ever_ …then they might as well _keep_ making mistakes. _Bigger_ ones, _worse_ ones. Nothing to lose, right? No reason to change when you’re already beyond saving. When the only thing left for you to accomplish in life is to punish the universe for allowing you to keep on existing.”

I remembered then that Skids was seeing Rung regularly, on a professional basis, and from what I recalled of those old SpecOps rumours about Skids, I wondered how close Skids was to getting his memories back. I suspected that Skids’s rage wasn’t about Megatron at all; it was about _him_ , and what he was said to have done, and how much of it had been his own volition and how much had been the influence of the mechanism we now called Tarn. 

Poor Skids. So smart, so clever and yet so very vulnerable to those of us who knew how to play him.

And yet I felt guilty, terribly guilty because I _liked_ Skids. I really _did_. It wasn’t just the fragging, though he was brilliant in the berth, and it wasn’t just the conversation, though I was never bored talking to him. It wasn’t even respect for his formidable skills, nor gratitude for the way I’d ingratiated myself to so many of the crew by riding on my best friend’s popularity. It was that somewhere along the line I’d genuinely started to care about him.

In my secret spark I admitted to myself that in a perfect world I’d abandon all that nonsense with Tailgate and challenge Skids straight-up to make an honest mechanism out of me…if he did, I’d make sure he never got bored. Oh, the thought of that ultimatum made my processor spin. I was almost certain I could make good on my end of the deal, and could spend hours planning out exactly _how…_

But, of course, the world we lived in was far from perfect.

I was taking a risk, taking a horrible and _unnecessary_ risk and I already knew what Skids’s answer would be. In fact, I’d taken this risk once before, and I had no reason to believe that Skids would have changed his mind. 

I tried to talk myself out of it, in the moment when I reached out and took Skids’s hand. Atomizer and I had asked everyone _once_ : some flat-out, some subtly and in a round-about manner, but with everyone on board I’d taken the time to figure out what their answer would be. I’d listed them accordingly: with us or against us. 

I hadn’t given anyone else a second chance.

The _universe_ didn’t give second chances. Primus knew that there were plenty of mechanisms who’d come online at the same time as me, in that terrible drop between the sky and the surface of Cybertron, and most of them were dead now. Most of them, in fact, were dead before the end of that very first battle, because they’d made mistakes and those mistakes had been fatal. 

Where were the second chances for the MTOs who had charged the enemy before they’d mastered control of their trigger fingers? Where were the second chances for the MTOs who’d landed in a trench with other mechanisms and realized too late they’d touched down in the Decepticon lines? Where were the second chances for those who’d realized too late that they’d stood their ground when they should have been running? 

No, there were no second chances for them and so there were no second chances for anyone, not when I could help it. My reason for existing was to bring back a certain measure of justice into this universe.

But I had given Skids a second chance, and now I was giving him a third.

“There’s got to be some mistakes you can’t go back from,” I murmured. “There’s got to be a point where you’re just too damned dangerous to be allowed back into society. There’s got to come a point where….imagine something’s radioactive. Lethal. Maybe you can argue that you can’t blame something for just being true to its own nature. But isn’t there just as much fault in the people who leave the radioactive thing lying about in public places? Can those people really argue that hey, they didn’t think the dangerous thing would hurt anyone, even though that’s what it does, by definition? Don’t those people have a responsibility to clean up their own mess, to contain their own threats, to limit the damage caused in future? I would say they do. I would say…” 

Skids looked terribly conflicted, and I wondered if he was thinking about Megatron, about Tarn, or about himself. 

“Look at me,” I whispered as I squeezed his hands in mine. “I care about you, Skids. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

True. It was _true_ , and the honesty of it seared my spark.

For the first time, I admitted to myself just how much Skids meant to me. I had thought myself incapable of _love_. That purity of feeling was not for Spec Ops operatives and definitely not for disposable soldiers such as myself.

My voice crackled with static. “If we decide that Megatron is just too dangerous to be allowed to go around free…will you accept that? If we have to do something about it…will you stand back and let us?”

Last time I’d asked him if he’d _help_ me. Maybe I’d asked too much. For most people I’d been content with the assurance that they wouldn’t try to _stop_ me. I’d wanted Skids’s help because of his skills but Primus, Primus please, I’d be happy if he just stood back and let me do my job.

Skids shook his head and my spark dropped. “It’s Rodimus’s job to remove Megatron.”

“Which Rodimus isn’t doing. Clearly Rodimus isn’t fit to be captain.”

“Rodimus isn’t doing it because Megatron hasn’t done anything to warrant it.”

“Megatron is Megatron—isn’t that enough?”

“Look, Rodimus doesn’t like Megatron any more than you do. But Prime put Megatron onto this ship. Rodimus has to respect Optimus’s decision…and so do we.”

“Optimus isn’t our leader any more,” I said scathingly.

“By that logic, Starscream’s our leader. Are you following Starscream’s orders?”

I was silent.

“Yeah. Only as much as you have to. Same as all of us.”

“Optimus was acting as a judge,” Skids continued. “That means if you have a problem with his decision, you follow the rules for those situations. You launch an objection. You file an appeal. You campaign to change the law so this doesn’t happen again. You don’t just overthrow the justice system. You can’t. That’s how coups start.”

“What if the system is broken?” I retorted. “What if there isn’t any recourse that can fix the mistake before the damage is irreversible?”

“You mean what if the only solution is revolution?” Skids asked.

I nodded, hoping he was starting to get it.

Skids folded his arms. “Then the Decepticons were right all along and we’re on the wrong side of history.”

I stared, and for once, I had nothing to say.

“That’s why I’m an Autobot,” Skids said, pressing his advantage. “Because I believed…because I _still believe…_ that the system could and can be reformed. Because I believed there was still a lot of good things about the world we had and that those things are worth keeping. Because I thought a lot of innocent people would be hurt if we burned all the old ways down before we started building something new. Evolution, not revolution. Gradual, thoughtful change. Keeping the best of the old and getting rid of the worst.” 

Skids squeezed my hands in return, looked me in the optics and said, “Getaway, if you throw all that away…if you think it’s okay to up and break the law just because you don’t like the decision that’s been handed down…then you’re the same as the people we went to war against.”

I felt my spark shatter, because that was a _no_.

If I committed what was, in my mind, a necessary act—removing Rodimus from command and ensuring Megatron received his punishment due—Skids was going to try to stop me. He would actively put himself between me and what I needed to do. I loved him, and I hoped he loved me, but he was against me still.

And I wasn’t doing this because I wanted to. I was doing it because it had to be done. 

Because Rodimus was incompetent and Megatron was dangerous and the Knights of Cybertron were our last, best hope.

Because I believed that our species was worth whoever I had to sacrifice along the way.

Because in this universe there had to be at least a little bit of justice, even if it was only the amount I could hand out myself. If it killed me I would hand it to the mechanism who was the reason they’d needed to make made-to-order soldiers like me.

Because there’d been no mercy for me and I could have no mercy for anyone else.

Not for Megatron.

And not for Skids.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

I reached under my pillow.

Skids froze. His optics widened in dawning horror.

My finger curved over the trigger.

“I love you,” I told him, and I meant it.

I think Skids believed me. His optics broadened to almost perfect circles, but they lost their glaze of fear.

“Bomp,” I said.

I felt him nudge his head against mine.

Then I put the nudge gun’s barrel to his temple and pulled the trigger.

#

Skids sleeps deeply, nestled against me in my berth, but I sit up, thinking. Thinking of how Skids will never remember what I said to him.

_I love you_. Is it still true if there’s no memory of it?

I want to believe it will be. I want to believe that love will survive even if both of us lose all recollection. 

Still, it hurts to think that Skids will not think of those words when he thinks of me. I try to tell myself that it is just as well. I am supposed to be in love with Tailgate, I remind myself, or at least present the consistent illusion of it.

But I feel so tired, so very weary of all the lies, and all the games, and all the strings I’ve spun into a web of half-truths and suggestions in order to trap Megatron, overthrow Rodimus, and save my planet’s people. _You are being deceived_ , Megatron had said, and in the end I realize he is right. 

I want nothing more than to drop the deception and just…be myself. I want to be free to say what I truly feel, and to do things solely because I wish to do them. I want to tell the universe the truth, the raw and honest truth, the way I’d told it to Skids.

Then I realize I’ve already had what I wanted, even if it was for just an instant, and now the moment has passed. But for those few seconds, I had spoken honestly and Skids had heard me.

I look down at the nudge gun, still folded in my hand.

Tomorrow morning Skids will wake up, with only a slight headache to betray that he’d had his recent memories erased. He is going to chalk it up to fatigue or drink or maybe even a bit too much enthusiasm in the berth, and then he is going to forget about it. By which I mean that he will forget to worry about what he’d recently forgotten. It will never occur to him to ask the questions that would suggest the true origins of his headache.

Skids’s thoughts are still focused on the hole in his past. I don’t know how to tell him that what’s buried there is better left to rest in peace. I have no way to tell him that I like this smiling, laughing Skids far more than I’d liked the grim and distant Skids I’d known in Special Ops. I don’t know how to make myself happy for the fact that while Skids is chasing those terrible memories he’ll completely overlook the more recent gaps in his recollections, even though I should be overjoyed to have such a tidy solution present itself.

And I don’t know how to tell myself that I can’t keep giving Skids second and third and fourth chances. No matter how much I love him.

So I let go and I tell myself the truth…for one more precious and fleeting moment. 

Skids is worried about following the law. I am worried about _justice_ and _survival_. Justice doesn’t care what Starscream or Optimus Prime or Rodimus have to say. _Justice_ is Megatron paying the penalty for his crimes. _Survival_ is the _Lost Light_ finding the Knights of Cybertron, which won’t happen under Rodimus’s command. The law is not concerned with either justice or necessity. I am.

I lean back and hoped that Plan A worked, that Tailgate is so far under my thrall that he’ll do exactly as I ask. That Cyclonus or Whirl or someone else won’t frag it up at the last minute. That…Well. I don’t _actually_ want Tailgate dead…the little mech hasn’t done anything other than being naïve and foolish and everything I’ve never been able to afford to be…but if he lives, he’d better be in enough pieces to convince everyone that Megatron had intended to kill him, that Megatron is out of control.

If Plan A works—if Tailgate dies—maybe Skids will step in to offer his support during my bereavement, and maybe…just maybe…I might get something for myself out of all this.

If Plan A fails…if my machinations don’t bring about _justice_ …then I have no choice but to involve some extremely unsavoury individuals for whom justice is very much a way of life.

This is what I have to do if the Autobots are to survive. I believe this in my deepest spark, just the way I believed in my very first minute of life that I had to _get away_. I followed that instinct and I am alive where the rest of my batch are long dead. I don’t think I am wrong.

Suddenly, I hope I am.

Suddenly, I find myself filled with rage and disgust and frustration. Why do _I_ have to shoulder all this responsibility? Why do _I_ have to plot and scheme and lie to bring a mass murderer to justice; why can’t everyone _see_ where Megatron’s tyranny has brought us, and why can’t everyone take _responsibility_ for making him face the consequences? 

Ultra Magnus. Thunderclash. Senator Crosscut. Emirate Xaaron. Hound, ex-Primal Vanguard. Hell, even _Drift_. _Any_ of them could have seen the problems in Rodimus’s leadership and used their authority to forcibly remove him from command. None of them did. And now they were all sitting back and making _me_ dirty my hands doing what needed to be done.

They made a disposable soldier to do what they couldn’t, or wouldn’t.

To tell the truth, I am tired of it.

To tell the truth, I want nothing more of plots.

To tell the truth, I want to grab Skids and put him on a shuttle and fly far away from here, away to some far-off world where we don’t have to give a smelted bolt about the fate of the Cybertronian race or the just deserts of its erstwhile Emperor. Could I keep Skids happy for the rest of our lives? He’s a superlearner…but I love a challenge. 

Yes, I think I could.

In all honesty, I am ready to give up on _justice_ , but _survival_ , well, that’s an instinct built right into my frame. It wasn’t my logic centers that told me to _get away_ in my first moments of life, and it’s not my emotional processors that take control now. Because the Cybertronian race has to survive, no matter what it costs me personally.

It’s pure instinct that moves my hand.

_I could quit_ , I realize.

I don’t have time to crystallize what that revelation truly means. I have a few nebulous notions half-formed in my head even as my arm moves. It means breaking up with Tailgate, even if I never tell him the true reason I courted him. It means leaving the ship if I can’t make my peace with Rodimus and Megatron. It means leaving the ship, even if I leave Skids behind.

Does it mean telling Skids that we were never really best friends back in Spec Ops? I’m not sure. I’m afraid it does. I’m afraid. But my mind knows it’s the only ethical thing to do.

Of necessity, my frame knows I have to do something else. 

Megatron needs justice and Cybertron needs the Knights and the Autobots need a made to order soldier to do their dirty work and what is necessary has always been far more important that the trifling things that I _want_.

I feel the barrel of the nudge gun resting against my temple.

_I’m going to have a hell of a headache tomorrow_ , I realize, and then my finger pulls the trigger one more time.


End file.
